CHAPTER 24
THE PUNISHER
Sal’s voice crackles to life in my ear, barely audible over the static that distorts his words.
‘Boss?’
‘Sal! So happy you could finally join me!’ I reply, sarcastically.
‘Linked – a – tower,’ his voice cuts out, fragmented.
‘Repeat that last part, Sal.’
‘A central tower is feeding GPS co-ordinates to each of you, guiding you to...your prizes. Hello? Are you getting this?’ More static follows.
‘Yes, Sal,’ I answer quickly.
The ground beneath me is a treacherous mess of mud and moss- covered rocks, slick from days of relentless rain.
The cold bites through my boots as I press onwards, the incline steep and unforgiving.
Each step churns the saturated earth beneath me, while wet branches slap at my face, leaving stinging welts.
Sal’s voice cuts in again, just enough to draw my attention.
‘Tarran is not too far ahead,’ he says, fighting against the interference.
‘Listen, you’re ahead of the other players, but not by much.
They’re working on hot and cold cues – I’ve hacked the main feed – her – location.
It looks like – on – track. Head towards the Rabbit Warren.
With this weather, you’ll both need shelter. ’
I don’t waste any time answering, and just fix my eyes on the thicket ahead. Tarran is close – I can feel it. And I won’t let anyone beat me to her. Not tonight. Not ever.
The Rabbit Warren.
I remember the days spent with my father, I must have been around seven when we traced the reserve on an old, tattered map.
Each hideout marked with care – underground shelters equipped with paraffin lanterns and dry blankets, places of quiet refuge.
They weren’t just shelters, though. Many of the dens doubled as hunter hideouts, cunningly positioned to ambush unsuspecting animals.
The irony was never lost on me – what served as shelter for some became a trap for others.
I can still see him, his weathered hands steady as he lit one of those lanterns, its warm glow flickering against the cramped, earthen walls.
Now, the forest feels alive in a different way.
I pause, the sharp scent of pine and soil filling my lungs, grounding me as the rain-soaked leaves drip around me, the distant flutter of birds startled by my presence echoes faintly through the trees.
My eyes fix ahead, the path dipping sharply and disappearing into the shadows.
Somewhere, down there, lays the Rabbit Warren.
‘Where is she, Sal?’ I growl into the static-laden earpiece as I grip the rifle tighter against my shoulder. My breath comes in sharp bursts, the cold air invading my lungs like knives. I scan the terrain, my eyes darting through the shadows.
‘She’s right there!’ Sal’s voice cuts through the interference, urgent and strained.
‘Underground?’ I snap, my patience fraying with every second.
‘No-.’ His reply dissolves into harsh static, the connection faltering just as the mechanical voice blares through the air.
‘RED LIGHT.’
Sal’s voice returns, fragmented but clear enough to make my pulse spike. ‘There’s someone closing in, boss. Tarran isn’t moving, but someone else is. They’re right on top of you.’
‘I know, Sal,’ I bite out. ‘And in red light, she’s anyone’s game.’
‘They’re about eighty meters north of your position,’ he adds.
FUCK!
My eyes dart through trees, searching for any sign of her, or the other player.
‘I can’t see her, Sal,’ I hiss in frustration.
My grip tightens on the rifle as I raise it, the scope narrowing my focus to a single, sharp circle of clarity.
Then, I see him – a man in my crosshairs. His gaze is locked in my direction, but his weapon isn’t aimed at me. His rifle is positioned high, pointed above my head. A shiver runs down my back as I follow his line of sight.
And there she is. Tarran. My pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding my veins.
I see her!
But so does he.
She’s barely visible, her body pressed against the rough bark, blending seamlessly with the canopy above.
Her face is a storm of emotions – wild, feral, and alive with desperation that’s both terrifying and mesmerising.
She clings to the tree like it’s the only thing tethering her to this world, and my heart stutters as I’m caught between awe and that he’s going to shoot her.
He’s going to shoot her.
In a fluid motion, I swing the scope back to him, my finger curling around the trigger. The rifle bucks hard against my shoulder as the shot rings out.
‘GREEN LIGHT.’
The man drops, but Tarran loses her grip, and before I can react, she’s falling, crashing through the branches before hitting the ground. I’m moving before thought even forms, the rifle slung over my shoulder as my boots pound against the earth. ‘I’ve got her, Sal!’ I bark into the earpiece.
Too fucking close.
Too damn close.
I hold her close, her fragile form trembling against me. Her breaths are faint, each one a fragile thread keeping her tethered to life. The chill of her skin seeps through my clothes, but she’s alive – barely. That’s enough for now. It has to be.
‘You better hurry,’ Sal warns. ‘There are more closing in.’
I adjust Tarran in my arms, her weight pulling at my already aching muscles, but I don’t stop.
My eyes dart to the fallen tree trunk, partially buried in the mud, concealing the hatch to the Rabbit Warren.
The rain-soaked ground clings to it as I lower her carefully, my hands slipping as I haul the trunk aside.
The wood moves sluggishly, heavy and damp, but eventually the hatch reveals itself, its edges caked in dirt and moss.
I grip it, pulling hard until it creaks open, and the sound of rusted hinges break through the quiet tension.
The smell of damp earth rises from the dark hole below, the space swallowing the rest of the fading sun.
It’s not inviting, but it’s our only option.
The darkness beckons, promising shelter – and perhaps, just enough time to get some warmth into Tarran’s body.
I descend with Tarran in my arms, it’s a tight fit, but I manage to pull the hatch closed above us, the sound echoing into the confined space.
Inside, it’s dark, the air stale, thick and earthy.
I fumble for the lighter I’d swiped from Sal – his smoking habit annoying me endlessly, but right now, it’s proving its worth.
The tiny flame splutters to life. I step forward, lighting a second paraffin lantern hanging from a rusted hook, the soft glow spilling through the cramped space.
Tarran lies where I placed her, curled tightly on the blanket, her breaths shallow and laboured.
The light touches her face, revealing streaks of dirt smeared across her pale skin.
The raw vulnerability in her stillness twists something deep inside me.
Her body is cold against the damp air, and the urgency to get her warm grips me.
Sal’s voice crackles and fades, leaving me with nothing but static and the words of his unfinished warning. I crouch beside Tarran, setting my rifle down within reach, my focus split between her fragile form and the unseen threat above. ‘Who are we dealing with?’ I ask, but the line goes dead.
Tarran’s eyes snap open, blazing with fury. Her fists collide with my chest, each strike fuelled by a strength that shouldn’t be possible for someone so small and weak.
‘YOU!’ she snarls as if venom drips from every syllable.
I catch her wrists mid-swing, holding her firm but careful not to hurt her. Her pulse races beneath my grip, and I take a moment to feel each pulse as her body trembles with a volatile mix of cold, rage, and sheer exhaustion. She’s a little storm, barely contained, and I’m in her path.
‘We need to have a chat,’ I say, ‘but first, if you don’t want to die from hypothermia, I need to get you warm.’
The words act as a fragile truce offered in the midst of her fury, and she concedes. Her glare sharpens, and her lips curl into a sneer. ‘Fuck you,’ she spits.
The lanterns light wavers as I hold her firm, unwavering as her pulse beats beneath my fingers – a wild, frantic rhythm.
Come on, little lamb.
She thrashes, her body fighting me with everything she has left, but the fight isn’t in her strength – it’s in her eyes. I stay anchored. I need her to see, I’m not the enemy.
There’s something primal about fear. It’s raw, unfiltered, and utterly human.
I look at Tarran, trembling and wide-eyed, I can see, feel it radiating off her like heat from a dying fire.
Her chest rises and falls in shallow, frantic breaths, her pupils darting, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.
She’ll never escape.
I can’t help but smile. Not because I want to hurt her – no, that’s not it. It’s the control. Fear strips away the masks we wear, the lies we tell ourselves. It reveals the truth about who we are, and right now, Tarran is laid bare before me.
Her resistance fades, her wrists falling limp in my grasp. I let go, watching her closely as I open my coat. The cold air bites at my skin, but I don’t flinch. ‘If you don’t want to die,’ I repeat, my voice softer this time, steady and coaxing, ‘you’ll come and get warm.’
Her fear is intoxicating. But fear never lasts, not her fear anyway. It burns bright and fast, leaving only ashes behind. Her voice trembles as she speaks. ‘What’s your real name?’
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t remember me.
‘Gabriel,’ I say, the name slipping from my lips like a secret I’ve been wanting to share, and her eyes narrow, suspicion and defiance flaring to life.
‘Well, Gabriel, I’ll scream if you step any closer.’
Please do.
I let a faint smile tug at the corner of my lips. ‘After, I just saved your life?’
I open my coat again. ‘Come on.’